


To Hold You, Even When It Hurts

by FionnMacFool



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hand wavy magic for catharsis of course, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Time Travel, brief strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionnMacFool/pseuds/FionnMacFool
Summary: A blip in magic sends Stiles back to 2013.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 31
Kudos: 457





	To Hold You, Even When It Hurts

Stiles landed on the floor of something cold and industrial.

It lacked the cozy warmth of home, yet his body seemed to recognize the surroundings — his bones matching them against the catalog of floors he had intimately known in various violent manners. A second passed, less, and he suffered a brief moment of startling clarity: he registered a fading tingling numbness all over his skin he attributed to the journey. And in the same moment he realized he knew this exact location. He had been here before. But then his senses expanded beyond himself and a flurry of muted noises coalesced — shock and excitement married together. To all this Stiles contributed a single, “Ouch.”

He stood up and saw he had landed in the train depot surrounded by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future; who were all giving him a wide berth. He tried not to laugh at his own analogy and come off like a crazy person, but a smile broke over his face anyways as he peered around.

“Stiles?” a still-beta Scott McCall asked, then looked immediately to his left where his Stiles stood, lanky and plaid clad, eyes wide in surprise.

The train car was hosting them, he saw. He’d interrupted a pack meeting: Scott and Stiles, Derek and Erica and Boyd and Isaac.

“Oh my god,” he said, turning around to take it all in. He settled on the obvious and pointed to his past self. God he looked so young.

“Buzzcut. This must be, what? 2012?”

“2013,” Derek announced for them, arms crossed over his chest. Typical.

The pale, coltish Stiles — all frantic energy and knobbly knees — sized up his fuller frame, longer hair, and added inches in height. “Why?” asked the boy. “Where are you from?”

“I come from the year 2020!” he said, unable to hide his trademark flourish. He was amongst friends, despite everything. “I know, I can’t believe I made it either.” He winked at his past self.

Erica moved forward, eyes narrowed in skepticism. “He smells different,” she said to the group.

“Invasive, but in character,” Stiles mused.

“You smell like...what is that?”

“Strength,” Boyd recognized. “Power. Assurance.”

“Yeah, but like, homely,” Erica added, confused.

“Wow,” past-Stiles said. “That’s just insulting.”

“No, it’s a good smell,” Erica rectified. “Why don’t you smell like this?” She turned to the boy. "You’re all nerves and fear and hormones.”

“I can’t help how I smell!”

“Why are you here?” Derek’s scrutiny remained on the interloper, his question a demand not to be confused with niceties.

Stiles threw his arms out, spread wide to indicate the spectrum of bizarre he had landed in.

“I have no idea,” he said with a laugh, to which Derek raised a disbelieving eyebrow at that.

Past-Stiles scoffed. “You’re from the future and you have no purpose? That’s beyond lame.”

“And I don’t disagree, you — me — uh, yes. I agree with myself,” he went off, vaguely, seeking some conclusion on where they all stood, on where he stood. Because wasn’t that the question: why was he here? He had wanted, called out for the impossible, and his spark saw an opportunity. It was his best theory yet. All that remained was to ride to the end of this mad little journey.

Scott shook his head, failing to suppress a grin. “How does this happen to you? I mean, time travel? Really? Oh my god you have answers! Can you tell us our futures or is the universe at stake?”

Stiles looked around at the shiny faces, eyes wide in wonder and the gravitas at bearing witness to a moment of magic: Boyd with his raised chin, Erica with her smirk, Isaac with his cocked head. He looked beyond them, not willing to reveal his emotions to a den of wolves. He focused on Derek, closed off and sour. For now.

“The future’s hard-earned and amazing,” he lied to some of them. He wasn’t a soothsayer. That was not the purpose of this visit. And the partial truth in his words carried a steady heartbeat, a beacon of honor luring in this ragtag group of what could’ve been a beautiful family to trust him to let the subject drop.

But this group had not logged the hours yet for the trust Stiles asked for. Some of them would not receive the opportunity. And really, they only dropped the enticing enigma of what the future could be due to the distraction.

Erica tilted her head, eyes locked on the junction of Stiles’ neck and shoulder after Stiles had tugged at his shirt sleeves and collar in a fidgety manner, revealing more skin at his throat than he meant.

“What the fuck?” she sputtered and then launched forward, grabbing him by the neck to claw at the t-shirt, desperate to make sense of what she spied.

“Jesus, get off, that’s personal,” Stiles gasped as past-Stiles managed a “Careful! I’m delicate!” which earned his past self a glare from his future self.

Stiles batted Erica away, taking a step back to earn some space. Everyone’s eyes were trained on him, curiosity clear on their faces as the teeth marks embedded in his skin were noticed by all.

“You’re claimed?” Erica asked, surprise and disbelief heavy in her words. And how the hell did Erica find the time to learn about all the werewolf extracurriculars so soon? He decided there was a lack of comprehensive knowledge. And why the hell did she have to act _that_ surprised?

He shook out his arms and tugged at his shirt again, letting it fall back in a comfortable place.

“Claimed? Please. It’s called a Mate Mark. You need to educate yourself on the cooperative nature of relationships and less on viewing partners as proprietary.”

“I can’t believe you got bit for love, not werewolf powers,” Scott thought out loud, head tilted to the side like he’s addressing the infrastructure. His head snapped up and he found the Stiles of 2013, a huge grin blooming on his face. “I can’t believe you’re with a werewolf!”

“Thanks, Scotty. Dripping with confidence-building enthusiasm as usual.”

Scott grinned harder.

“As fascinating as this is, we do have places to be,” said Boyd.

“Yeah. Creatures to find,” Isaac added.

Derek uncrossed his arms and seemed to shake himself out of a stupor. “Right. Scott, you’re sure Allison will show?”

“She’s got our backs, dude. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Likely,” Derek muttered.

“I think she’s trustworthy,” Isaac said with surprising presence and force. For a moment, he loomed large — shoulders squared back, chest opened forward, engaged — before he curled back in on himself, quiet again.

Scott looked at Isaac with a curious look. Ah, this time in their lives.

“Maybe future-Stiles will join the op,” Erica said, eyebrow raised in invitation.

“Future-Stiles will be working on getting back to _the future_ ,” Derek said with such an end-of-discussion look on his face that Stiles got hit with a wave of nostalgia.

He said, “You guys go on; do your wolfy-hunter alliance mission. I’m not gonna be here much longer.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew they were true.

His past self, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, blurted out, “We’re okay though, right? When you say you’re not going to be here much longer…” he trailed off.

“Oh! I’m not being dramatic,” Stiles said. “I can just tell I’ll be back to my time soon.” He nodded his head and gave a thumbs up. “We’re good.”

“More than good!” Erica said as she began moving to the train car’s exit. She tugged at her leather jacket and swept her long hair from beneath the collar. “Stiles has a lady werewolf in his life.”

“Maybe it’s you,” Isaac said.

Erica’s eyes roamed over older Stiles. “Maybe.” She flashed him a wicked grin.

His past self spoke up. “Maybe Lydia did take on some werewolf properties from when she was mauled by Peter!”

A collective groan reverberated throughout the dilapidated train car.

Scott managed a semi-tactful, “I really don’t think so, man,” while Boyd muttered, “So dense.”

Derek cut in. “Scott. Boyd. Go meet Allison in the Preserve. Isaac. Erica. Go straight to the secondary location.”

Erica gave a mock salute. “Aye, aye captain.”

“And somebody convince both Stileses to go home,” Derek amended.

“I got you, buddy, let's make full use of my mom letting me borrow the car!” Scott said to his friend, then turned to Stiles from the future. “Guess this is goodbye.”

His face looked so young and hopeful, like the world was still a game to play without any rounds lost.

“Come here, Scotty,” Stiles said with open arms. Scott walked right into them, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Only goofy smiles and enthusiastic claps on the back.

“See you in the future, dude,” Stiles said, and felt a brief sharp pain that was gone as fast as it came. Recovered, he grabbed Boyd to pull him in.

“What the hell, man?” Boyd managed before Stiles yelled, “Erica! Bring Isaac, too!”

Erica took to her task with glee, dragging Isaac into a group hug. Stiles clutched them to himself, imagining his clothes and skin absorbing their scents.

“Stiles,” Isaac said, “this is starting to get weird.”

“Shh, don’t ruin this.”

“That’s enough," Derek barked. "Move out.”

Erica patted his cheek before tugging Isaac some more to the train car’s exit. “Good luck with the werewolf in your life. I’m sorry it’s not me, but let’s be real.” She winked at Stiles and strode off, Isaac still in tow, and a memory hit him. He remembered, months from this moment, Erica found cold and lifeless. He remembered thinking, _Let’s be real: I’m sorry, too,_ and referring to the abrupt end of any future they could’ve had: as pack, as friends. He turned to find his past self hanging on every word, already entertaining possibilities of himself and Erica, every beat of his heart pulsing _what if what if what if._

Boyd moved next towards the exit. He stopped to look back and forth between the two Stileses, and then back to Derek. “I’m still getting used to the idea of werewolves, man,” Boyd said. “Now time travel?”

Derek simply shrugged and Boyd made his way out.

“You better get going,” Stiles said to Scott. “I know you’ve got Allison to meet up with.”

“Right. Right! Er, and I’ve got to get you, er, him home first so I better leave now.” Scott made a big show of it in a way that meant he was absolutely not taking Stiles home. He grinned at that.

“See ya, man.” He watched the past versions of himself and his best friend make their way out of sight.

And then there was one. Stiles was acutely aware of the remaining pack member; he watched the man lean against the curving sheet metal of the train interior wall, arms crossed over his chest again, eyes trained on the ground.

“Do you actually know if you’ll be leaving soon?” Derek asked the ragged flooring.

“I think so.”

Derek looked up at that, annoyed disbelief on his face. Then the moment passed and he asked another question.

“Are you safe?”

“What?”

“Right now. In the future. Where you come from. Are you safe?”

“Oh. Yeah. No, things are great actually. Oh! You were thinking this was a Terminator situation! Come back to prevent a dystopian future!”

“Not exactly.”

“Don’t worry. Things are good right now.” But between this moment and the future was a long, painful journey.

They lapsed into silence, and Stiles became distracted by the fact that he could tell something was warring beneath the surface of Derek’s stoic demeanor. He watched the minuscule facial tics with fascination, the same ones he saw in his time when Stiles suggested going to a restaurant he knew Derek hated just to watch him squirm to keep cool. After a long moment Derek finally said, “My mother called them Mate Marks.”

Stiles managed a non-committal nod.

And then he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Look, Derek, you’re gonna go through some shit. We’re all gonna go through some shit. Some truly awful moments are upon us and I just need you to know that you don’t give up.” He stopped to gasp as pain exploded in his chest like it had before, but far more intense. For a second, Stiles thought this was it, this was the end, before the pain receded. Derek, alarmed, quickly strode in front of Stiles. He placed a palm on Stiles’ arm, to both assess and draw the pain.

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles recognized the desperation in his words, his voice, though Derek tried to mask it. A true testament to how well Stiles had come to know him.

“I’m okay. The pain’s gone.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel it anymore.” Derek let go of his arm.

“Thanks. I, uh, I think the pain’s a symptom of changing the future. I think I actually need to keep my mouth shut." He amended his statement with, "You do not get to say anything.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Derek said anyways with a laugh. “Besides, aren't you revealing enough of the future as it is just by being here?”

“I know. But I had to come.”

“Why?”

“It’s personal. And it’s nothing life shattering. What I’m doing barely registers in the grand scheme of things.” His spark and the universe allowed it. It must be so.

Derek gave him a searching look. “You’re really okay in the future?” he said after a brief silence. 

Stiles nodded.

“And you weren’t coerced to this?” He waved a hand over Stiles’ bite mark, unknowing that the mark was given only when Stiles offered to accept it, along with all the implications that came with a permanent bond.

“I was _definitely_ not coerced.”

Derek took a step back. “Okay then. But you let me know if you do ever need anything. In the navigating domestic werewolf diplomacy bit. I have some experience there, as a born wolf.”

Stiles laughed. “Will do.”

They locked eyes, Stiles knowing that Derek had more to say. He always became silent and still as stone when he had more to say. Before, Stiles would’ve walked away, thinking himself as dismissed or running from an awkward silence. He knew better now. This was Derek — the calm before the storm.

“I hope whoever you’re with contributes to the pack. To you.”

Stiles laughed again, despite the frown appearing on Derek’s face, the situation too unreal to process without a feeling of giddiness. “Don’t worry. He does.”

Another bout of timey-wimey pain punched through him the same time Derek’s eyes widened at Stiles’ admission.

 _I’m not saying anything more,_ Stiles thought and the pain dispersed, replaced by a familiar tingling numbness that came with the journey here.

“I’m going now,” he announced. “Bye, past-Derek.” He gave a soft smile.

And he managed to see a confused Derek mouth “bye” before he disappeared completely.

— — —

Derek stood in the train car, glued to the spot, and still staring at the place where future-Stiles disappeared from.

“Whoa. That’s not something you see everyday.”

The Stiles of now — his Stiles — stood at the entrance, face in shock.

“What are you doing here?”

“I decided I can walk to my dad’s office from here. And I wanted to check on myself. I mean, come on! That was me! From the future! I’m alive seven years from now! Any creepy monsters in the woods tonight can wait.”

“Don’t celebrate too early. Always time for history to change its mind about you. And I knew Scott was taking you out there instead of to your house.”

“Nope, no no no, that’s not how this works. My moment of accidental honesty needs pushed to the side. You can’t spoil this moment for me, sourwolf. We are celebrating my future successes.”

Derek dropped his head, hiding the smile that unfurled on his face without warning.

“Come on,” he said when he’d collected himself. “I’ve got alpha duties. Let’s get you to the Sheriff.” It was easier to frame it as a task than to admit he was walking with Stiles for the company.

“Did I say anything to you? 2020 me?”

“He’s you. Of course he said things.”

“Anything _revealing?_ ” Stiles waggled his eyebrows.

“No. Not really. He got close to admitting future events but it caused him pain.”

“Huh.” And then, “But you had to have gleaned some info. You’re way better at scents than the others. What did I smell like to you?”

“Like home,” Derek said without thinking.

Stiles stared at him. “Great. So I smell like rust and rubbish?” he said, looking around the train car. “You’re the worst.”

They walked like that, with companionable banter the whole way to the Sheriff's department. And for many years more.

— — —

Stiles landed on the familiar hardwood floors of his house. It was daylight still, close to how he’d left it he supposed, with warm spring light filtering through the naked windows. He felt the disturbance more than he heard it; his husband’s stealthy ways a hard habit to break.

“I’m okay,” he said, a warble to his voice from the impact of landing on the floor, as Derek burst through the bedroom’s open door.

“You’re back? God, Stiles, you’re back.” He knelt down beside him, his hands roaming his body to check for signs of abuse.

“How long was I gone?”

“Less than an hour, but Jesus Christ. I saw you disappear from the corner of my eye. I thought...I thought…” he tried again, “I’ve been morose lately and —”

“Hey, no, shh. I just wanted to help you. I didn’t know my magic spark was going to act on it and fling me out of time!”

Derek stilled above him. “What. _What?_ ”

Stiles grinned.

“Where’d you go?”

Stiles held up his arms, open and inviting. “Come here. I have a present for you. I bring you three gifts from 2013.”

Derek lowered his body and sprawled against him, looping his arms beneath Stiles’ shoulders to settle in, then nosed against the mark he’d given him two years ago. He nipped at it gently with his mouth.

“Take a deep breath.”

Derek did as instructed without a second thought.

He breathed Stiles in, then clutched the man tighter, a whimper escaping from deep in his chest where the aches lived after he buried them. He smelled them — his lost pack, severed from him by cruel misfortunes and mistakes. He took in their lingering scent on Stiles’ clothes, his skin. Stiles had held them close for his husband: Boyd’s smell of slate and mint after a fresh rain; Erica’s bouquet of shampoo, dryer sheets, and lotion masking a woodsy smell; Isaac smelling of bitter oranges and tentative hope. He felt Derek cling to him in stubbornness like he was a lifeline, and then felt tears wet his neck, his collarbone. Stiles just clutched him tighter, fiercer. Derek had been missing his pack. It was as simple as that. Stiles brought back what he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've been sitting on this idea for a while and finally managed to wrangle it into fic format. Unbeta'd.


End file.
